


Stars of Ice

by Annabelle (annabelle_marie)



Series: Stars [1]
Category: Baldur's Gate, Forgotten Realms
Genre: Adventure, Fantasy, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-07 08:54:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14667633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabelle_marie/pseuds/Annabelle
Summary: Hi hi! This is the story of my canon Bhaalspawn, Keyria, a chaotic good archer avariel. If you read my short piece Alianna, you'll recognize the name, but there's a bit of a difference to this story: in my canon, Keyria was already over 100 years old and approaching elven adulthood when Gorion found her, and she underwent an extreme spell that keeps her memory under lock. It was just easier to write her as a baby in that story, haha. If you want to know more about Keyria and see what she looks like, you can visit her at chaoticflawless.tumblr.com :) I will be breaking this into separate stories, this one covering the first game and Tales of the Sword Coast. This story will contain canon dialogue and plots, canon dialogue that has been altered to fit my character, mod dialogue and plots, mod dialogue that has been altered, and wholly original dialogue. If you ever want to know where particular dialogue came from I'll be happy to let you know since I don't want to take credit for anything that's not mine. Also, there won't really be any romance here yet. Keyria falls in love with Kivan very early on, but he won't return her feelings until the second game, so there'll be tender moments but they'll be like 99% platonic. ❤️❤️





	1. World Lost World

**Author's Note:**

> To be honest, I find this first chapter incredibly boring even though I'm the one who wrote it. I probably shouldn't say this because I do want people to read this and give it a chance but I also gotta be honest. I wasn't even going to post it but then I saw the word count and I couldn't let all those words go to waste so here we are. I promise it'll get more interesting from here, this chapter is kind of like a "prologue" with a lot of setup and background. And please, do feel free to leave any comments, I love to read them, even constructive criticism!! My writing will probably naturally become more refined as I settle into writing this story and Keyria's voice as well, but any tips would be appreciated. I'm hoping to update about once a week but we'll see how that works out. The chapter title comes from an UVERworld song, which may be how I end up getting most of my chapter titles, tbh. ❤️❤️

I sit on the ledge of the window of my top-floor bedroom, kicking my legs back and forth high above the ground. The rhythmic sound of my bare feet tapping against the stone is strangely soothing. My room faces the east, where the sun has only just begun to rise, painting the sky soft shades of rose and lilac as it peeks above the horizon. I watch the gorgeous sunrise as I have watched so many others, but this time, I am also trying to ignore the crumpled note in my hands.

I unfold it again, reading over my father’s tight scrawl. “My dear daughter, please find me before the day’s end. We must leave this place. Make your preparations as you see fit.” It is succinct, but I suppose perhaps he wants to tell me the details in person.

I have wanted to leave Candlekeep for as long as I can remember. I have snuck out a few times, since it’s almost too easy for me when all I have to do is spread my wings and fly over the monastery walls and I can imagine I’m completely free. But I never went very far, or stayed out too long. The unseen threat that haunted Father’s eyes whenever he thought I’d been missing too long always kept me hurrying back, though I’m still unsure if he ever knew where I went. If he does know, I suppose he never said anything because he didn’t want to forbid me and have me directly disobey him.

Sighing, I swing my legs back into my bedroom, nearly giving my pet bunny, Sprinkles, a kick in the face. Scooping him up, I press a kiss to his nose before setting him back on the floor.

Quickly and efficiently, I dress, pulling my white leathers over my rose-pink clothes, then braid my long hair, groaning in annoyance when I come across a knot and have to brush the whole thing out and start over again. I grab my bow, which I carved myself, and some various things I think I’ll need. I don’t have much in the way of personal effects, but what I do have I treasure. I take a look around the room for what is likely the last time, at least for a while. Sprinkles hops after me as I close the door softly behind me.

I make my way to the inn where I grab a simple breakfast courtesy of Winthrop, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, trying not to wonder if I’ll ever see him again. Smiling, I eat as I head out the door, planning to say my farewells to the many people who have touched my life here.

I spend the day running various errands for familiar faces, not minding the menial work, and causing a last bit of mischief. I don’t mind fetching Phlydia’s book for what feels like the hundredth time, or fetching Bessie’s medicine for Dreppin. I’m even gracious about getting Firebead’s scroll from Tethoril, who has always been one of my favorite monks, for he is endlessly kind. I’m also careful to skirt the chanters in bright robes in the back of the inner courtyard, spewing Alaundo’s prophecies. I’m grateful that their dark words have nothing to do with me, for they have always given me a deep sense of unease.

I enjoy the last time I’ll be able to barge into the guest rooms at the inn, shocking the uppity guests and occasionally pinching some of the fancier jewelry. I may not be a rogue, but I’ve always loved jewels. I smile, playing at the star-shaped pendant around my neck, a gift from Father.

My first scare comes when I wander into the priest’s quarters, looking to say my last goodbyes to anyone there. A hooded man approaches me, and I hold my ground as he draws near. “Oh goodie, goodie! I’ve gone and found ye first!” he says, a mad half-smile on his thin face. “You are the ward of Gorion, no doubt?”

The look he wears frightens me, and I take an involuntary step back. “I’m–I’m his daughter,” I say. “I don’t know you are though, please, uhm...can I help you?”

“Oh,” he says, his mouth turning upwards wickedly, “our encounter shall be quite simple for you. Plainly put, I have made it my mission to end your life. Success will mean a little respect among my peers. So you see, you can do very little, except die by Shank’s blade!”

In shock, I gasp, and because of the close quarters I cannot draw my bow. Gripping my longsword, Starflower, with both hands, I barely have time to raise it in front of me just in time for him to clumsily walk right into it.

A choked sob escapes me, and as the light goes out of his eyes, I drop my sword, and it slides out of his stomach as he falls, clattering on the wooden floor as blood spills and the man’s body thumps loudly onto the floorboards. I cannot imagine why anyone would want me dead. I know I had a life before Father—I am over 100 years old after all—but because I cannot remember any of it, I do not know if I have a past that has caught up with me.

Far more important, I have killed him, and if I have ever killed before, I do not remember it. I feel the weight of taking a life, even if the life taken was a necessary price to pay for my own survival. There is blood on my hands now, and I know that I will never be the same again.

I sink to the floor, wrapping my arms around myself, before I realize I don’t have time to fall apart. Gritting my teeth, I yank Starflower out from under the dead man, cleaning the blade quickly on his clothes. With a shudder, I push open the door and step outside. The moment I breathe the fresh air, I feel better.

Parda, one of my old tutors, approaches me, clearly having heard the commotion. “Keyria, you cut yourself above the brow, there,” he says. I raise a shaky hand to my forehead, feeling wetness under my fingers. I open my mouth to say that it’s not my blood, but Parda rushes on. “What is wrong, child? Something in your eyes tells me that there is something very wrong indeed.”

At his kind and genuinely concerned words, my carefully held control falters. “There was a strange man in there, and he—” I choke on the words. “He tried to kill me, and I had to—I had to kill him first. It was awful…” my voice fades out as the gravity of the situation falls over me, and I realize now part of why Father insists we leave. Something is dreadfully amiss here, and the place that has been my home has now instead become a trap.

“Hurry then, child,” he says gently. “Go find your father on the steps of the library. I had a feeling something like this might happen.” By the time I have registered his words, he is hurrying away, and I cannot help but wonder what he knows that I do not.

I gather my composure and finish up the rest of my errands, fetching a sword for old Hull and some crossbow bolts for the guard captain. He’s kind enough to give me an enchanted dagger, and although I have little use for it, I deeply appreciate the gesture. This place may be changing, but the people who cared for me never will.

I stop by the shrine to Oghma, and even though I don’t worship him, he is the patron of the place that has given me shelter for so long. Sister Sapienta stops me on my way outs and asks me to hand deliver a letter to an old friend of hers, at the Song of the Morning temple in Beregost, and I tell her I will. The letter is carefully wrapped in oilskin for protection against the weather, and as I turn to leave she tells me to send Imoen to her if I find her. Apparently she’s skipping out on her penmanship lesson today.

I say goodbye to the gatewarden, plus Erik and Jondalar and even Reevor, the latter as grumpy as ever as he demands I clear the storehouse of rats one last time, but I can tell that even he’ll miss me a little. I have been the life of this place, after all.

I manage to say my goodbyes with a smile on my face. I will miss these people, but perhaps it is time I moved on. If I was among my elven kin, I would just about be ready to be considered an adult, and I need to find my own fate, now.

One of my last stops is at the sickhouse, where I aid the clerics by calling upon minor healing spells of my own, from the power gifted to me by Aerdrie Faenya. I am not anywhere near powerful enough to make a major difference, but the sick and wounded there have always assured me that my magic has made them more comfortable. Even if that isn’t the case, it feels nice to know I might be helping them.

I am wary when entering all other buildings after my incident with the strange assassin, but it’s not until I enter one of the bunkhouses that I’m faced with another unknown man, and my guard quickly rises, fear causing my heart to pound inside my chest.

I immediately put an arrow to my bow, raising it as I stand in front of the door. “Don’t you dare come any closer,” I hiss. The man is a mass of hulking muscle, his face menacing and full of scars. “‘Ere there. You’re Gorion’s little whelp, aren’t ya? Yeah, you match the description. You don’t look so dangerous to me.” He grins maliciously as he speaks, the effect startling against the almost ghostly pale skin of his face.

I lift my chin. I am proud of being Gorion’s daughter, even if I am not of his blood. “I am his daughter, yes,” I say, and even though I know what’s probably coming next, I let him speak, to see if he’ll say anything about who sent him.

“Foster daughter. Gotta keep it straight,” he says with a sneer. “He raised you as his own, but you are not of his blood. Your head ain’t worth nothing if you’re actually his daughter. Nah, I know you’re the right one. My ticket out of the gutter, soon as Carbos snuffs your lights.”

With a grunt, he ventures a step forward, and I know he isn’t going to say anything more.

My hands are steady as I release the string of my bow, letting the arrow find a home in his flesh, buried directly in his heart, an easy shot at such close range. It is only after he drops to his knees and falls to his face that I allow myself to start shaking. The shaking doesn’t stop even as I leave the dead body behind. This time, I thought I was prepared for another dark encounter, but even the sunlight cannot restore my formerly happy-go-lucky mood.

It’s yet another of my old tutors, Karan, who finds me this time, his voice low and urgent as he places a comforting hand on my arm. “I heard shouting, Keyria! Are you all right?” He peers at me, no doubt trying to read what has happened in my face.

I want to fall apart and scream that I’m not all right, and that I don’t know if I’ll ever be all right again, but the words don’t come. Instead, I just whimper, “He’s...he’s dead, whoever he was. He tried to kill me. Oh, Karan, what is happening here? It was always safe here. I always felt safe, and everything is changing.”

“It’s not this place, child. It’s your they’re after.” My spine stiffens, and I suddenly feel inexplicably guilty, though I’ve done nothing wrong. “Gorion is waiting on the library steps, and you should go to him. Oh, dear child, I have been your tutor for so many years but only now do I begin to doubt that my teachings have been enough. You are no longer safe here. Find your father.” Like Parda, I can tell that he knows more than he is saying but is reluctant to speak up. Before I can push for answers, he absently pats my head and hurries away.

Fear pushes me to say to rest of my goodbyes with more haste than I would like, but by the end of the day I’ve managed to find everyone who means anything to me and say my farewells. Double-checking to make sure I have everything, I turn to look one more time at the window of my bedroom, watching the dark window. I wonder if I’ll ever live there again, though something tells me I won’t. Sprinkles nudges my leg, and I pick him up, holding him with one arm as I turn to the inner courtyard.

The sun begins to set, and I hurry to head into the inner courtyard to find my father as suggested, only to be stopped by a face I know like the back of my hand.

“Heya!” Imoen says, her arms coming around me in a brief but tight hug, which I return affectionately, as best I can with one arm.

“I’m surprised that stuffy ol’ Gorion let you away from your studies and chores. That ol’ fiddle faddle. I snuck off too. Ol’ Puffguts Winthrop was looking for me, but I’ve got all day to do his chores. You have time for a story today? No, I can tell you don’t. What have ya been up to?” As she talks rapidly, something shiny flashes in her hands, but I ignore it. As a rogue, she’s even worse than me about filching shiny things.

I smile at her, my former discomfort washed away in the familiarity of her bubbliness. “I can’t say, dear,” I say. “Father and I are leaving for a journey, though he won’t tell me where.” My smile falters. “I...don’t know when I’ll see you again.” Imoen is my sister in all the ways that matter, and not knowing when I’ll see her next makes my heart feel like it’s being twisted inside my chest.

Her eyes light up. “A journey, eh? I never get to travel either. Wish I could go with ya. Yep, I really wish I could. Yes, ma’am. Really do.” She twists her hands together, concealing the shiny object, eyes wide as she looks at me.

“I wish you could come, too,” I confess. “But I know father is intent on it only being the two of us. I hope we meet again. You’re…” I trail off, not wanting to tempt fate.

Imoen, who understands me better than perhaps anyone, just smiles and pats my arm. “Oh, I know. Old stick-in-the-mud, all worried about nothing.” I frown, and she catches my eye and winks. “Better go now, since you’ve got a long ways to travel...not...not that I would know, especially since I didn’t peek at old Mr. G’s private letters. No sir, better go now. Bye-bye!” With an impish grin, she scampers off before I can press her for answers. I briefly consider going after her, but I see my father waiting on the steps and decide against it.

He’s sitting on one of the stone benches and has a book propped open on his lap, and he looks up as I approach, closing the book and setting it down as he rises. “Oh, Keyria, I’m glad you’ve come. This is irregular and unnerving, I know, but please trust me. Please hurry and pack your possessions that we may leave this place immediately. Candlekeep is...not invulnerable, despite being well protected.”

“Father, please tell me where we’re going,” I say. I trust him wholly, but curiosity eats at me anyway.

“I’m afraid I cannot tell you, as I haven’t decided yet,” he says in his patient way. “All I know is that we will be much safer on the move. Perhaps the woods will provide some secluded security.” I perk up, my love for the forests clear on my face, I am sure. He smiles, but continues, “Or the city of Baldur’s Gate,” paying no mind as my face falls. And then, more sternly, “There are throngs of people in the city. If you glamour your wings, you will find it easy to become lost in the crowds. I do not know where we will end up, but I have many friends. I will think as we travel.”

This is as close to an answer as I can expect, and though I am tempted to ask him who is hunting me, the fear I remember seeing in his eyes keeps me silent on the matter. Instead, I slip Sprinkles into the top of my backpack. “I’m ready,” I say.

As we approach the gate, I marvel that I will finally, truly be leaving Candlekeep. I’m not given much time to reflect, however. Father leans in close, whispering firmly, “If we are ever separated, you must get to the Friendly Arm Inn. It’s in the north. I have friends who are staying there: Khalid and Jaheira, a married couple. I would trust them with my life, and yours. They will help you.” I nod silently, the words stored safely in my mind but my eyes on the opening gates.

I walk silently beside my father, as he’s insisted that I not fly for fear of being spotted. I’m not used to long periods of walking, though, and my pace slows. “We must hurry, Keyria,” he says, “The night will only get worse. We must find shelter soon.” I bite my lip against the pain in my feet and increase my speed as much as I can.

“Don’t worry,” he assures me. “I promise I’ll explain everything once we’re safe.”

But abruptly, his tone changes. “Something is very wrong,” he says. “We’re being ambushed! Prepare yourself!” Immediately, I push off the ground, taking flight as I ready my bow. In the darkness, I see six figures approaching. At the head of the little party is a huge man in dark, wicked armor.

“You’re perceptive for an old man. You know why I’m here. Hand over your ward and no one will be hurt. Resist and it shall be a waste of your life.”

That’s me, I realize. I’m the ward, though I consider him my father and not my guardian. What could that horrible man possibly want with me? I open my mouth to speak but Father beats me to it.

“You’re a fool if you believe I would trust your benevolence. Step aside and you and your lackeys will be unhurt.” And despite the uneven odds, my father’s voice is cool and level.

Although I cannot see his face beneath his massive helmet, somehow I know that the figure grins wickedly. “I’m sorry that you feel that way, old man,” he says, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all.

Father looks at me, his eyes pleading. “Fly, my child. Fly, and get out of here!” His eyes meet mine and lock, and I hesitate. I don’t want to leave him, not when I could possibly help. But his eyes bear down on me, and I know that he will die for me if he must, for a daughter he loved as his own. And I know what I must do, even if it breaks my heart.

With tears in my eyes, I turn away from the scene, letting my wings carry me away from the ongoing battle. I do not have time to hesitate. I will feel regret later, I know. But my father has always wanted what is best for me, and I will not let his kindness and love be for nothing.

Behind me, I hear the crackling of fire and I feel an arrow rush by my face, but I don’t stop. I fly as quickly as I can, but I don’t get very far before terror and shock cause my muscles to lock up, and I quickly drop into a tree before I fall and hurt myself. I don’t think I’m very far from the ambush site, but I hope it’s far enough.

I weep silently, the tears running down my cheeks, as I curl into the tree, knowing I will not get a wink of sleep. I pray to Aerdrie Faenya that my father will defeat the ambushers and safely return to me. And yet, I know with utter certainty that he will not return. My father is powerful, but the odds are stacked against him.

I do not know how many hours pass before dawn rises on a sleepless night, and for the first time in memory the sunrise brings me no joy. I clamber down from the tree, landing hard on my feet. With a moan, I sit down hard, not knowing what to do from here. I am utterly alone, in a way I have never been.

And then I hear a familiar voice calling my name.

“Keyria! Sorry I followed ya, but I never get out of Candlekeep and those monks are such a bore. Never any decent coin in their pockets either.” I want to smile and agree, but I can’t. “I...I saw Gorion, and I am SO sorry! Kinda figured something bad might happen to you out here.”

I want to scold her, but the horrors of last night catch up to me and without a word, I fall into her arms, sobbing.

She’s taller than I am, and she holds me awkwardly, my head pressed into her chest. She seems a bit uncomfortable, but says nothing and rubs my back gently as I cry and cry. I don’t know how long it is before my eyes are finally dry, but it feels like days. “How...how did you know?” I whisper, so softly I’m not sure she even heard me. “I didn’t even know.”

“I...accidentally...read a letter on his desk.” Normally, this admission would at least get a smile from me, but I can’t muster one right now. “Can’t remember exactly what it said, but he might still have...it might be on his...his body. Anyway, I’m not gonna let you wander around out here all alone. Never let a friend down, no ma’am! Stick with you until you say otherwise, I will!” And though I thought I was out of tears, I feel more wetness falling down my face at her unquestioned loyalty.

With a sniffle, I wipe my tears away and reach out to squeeze her hand.

Together, we silently make our way towards the ambush site. Once there, Imoen lays a hand on my arm. “Is...is that Gorion?” she asks quietly.

I nod in answer. “He died to save me. The person who killed him…” I shudder, and don’t manage to say any more. “Don’t you know who attacked you?” she presses. “Whatever it was, it looked vicious.”

“The one who killed him was a huge man in spiked armor.” I frown. “I thought...I thought his eyes glowed, but that isn’t...I must be mistaken.” I bite my lip. “There were also a couple of ogres and a mage and a girl, but I think...I think most of them are dead. I didn’t have time to see more. Father told me to fly, and I had to. He wanted me, after all.” Guilt floods me. “I had to.” I repeat, and I know I’m not trying to convince her but myself.

Imoen’s eyes widen. “He wasn’t after Gorion, but you?” she says. “I don’t like this, Keyria. Something is very wrong.”

I swallow a sudden lump in my throat. “I will find out what’s going on and avenge him,” I declare, “But, Imoen, you don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to.” I try to smile, and fail. “I’ll be okay on my own,” I lie.

Imoen just grins. “Leave? And if I did, who would keep ya entertained? Who would lift your spirits in the darkest hour? And who would keep up the practical jokes? Leave? Ha! You’ll have ta force me ta leave ya now!” My breath comes out in a whoosh, and I hadn’t realized until now that I’d been holding it. Grateful, I throw my arms around her and give her a quick squeeze. “Thank you,” I whisper. She doesn’t say anything back, but I know she heard me.

I unfold the note from my father’s body and read it.

> “My friend Gorion,
> 
> “Please forgive the abruptness with which I now write, but time is short and there is much to be done. What we have long feared may soon come to pass, though not in the manner foretold and certainly not in the proper timeframe. As we both know, forecasting these events has proven increasingly difficult, leaving little option other than a leap of faith. We have done what we can for those in thy care, but the time nears when we must step back and let matters take what course they will. We have, perhaps, been a touch too sheltering to this point.
> 
> “Despite my desire to remain neutral in this matter, I could not, in good conscience, let events proceed without some matter of warning. The other side will move very soon, and I urge thee to leave Candlekeep this very night, if possible. The darkness may seem equally threatening, but a moving target is much harder to hit, regardless of how sparse the cover. A fighting chance is all that can be asked for at this point.
> 
> “Should anything go awry, do not hesitate to seek aid from travellers along the way. I do not need to remind thee that it is a dangerous land, even without our current concerns, and a party is stronger than an individual in all respects. Should additional assistance be required, I understand Jaheira and Khalid are currently at the Friendly Arm Inn. They know little of what has passed, but they are ever thy friends and will no doubt help however they can.
> 
> “Luck be with us all.
> 
> “I’m getting too old for this.
> 
> “E”

I try to think of who this letter might be from, but no names immediately come to mind. As I refold the letter back up and tuck it away, warning Sprinkles not to eat it, I consider the mention once again of Khalid and Jaheira. I’ve head their names twice now, and I hardly have a friend in the world. I could certainly at least find them.

And though it has long felt like a prison, and though I know the gates are barred to me now, I decide to return to Candlekeep. To tell them about Father, if nothing else.

As we reach the cliff, we turn to head south to find the road. I’m watching the dust beneath my feet when a sudden sound of rockfall causes me to look up.

It’s a nobleman, dressed in fine silks and a hat with a huge feather, who stands at the very edge of the cliffside. When he sees us, he starts screaming loudly at us. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll jump!” he yells frantically. “Yeah, you heard me, and I’ll do it too! So...don’t come any closer...again. And don’t try to stop me!”

Imoen cuts in, her voice sharp and scolding. “Hey, ya know what? Keyria over ‘ere was just locked out of her hometown without a penny, and some monsters killed her father. If anyone here should be jumping cliffs, it’s her.” I almost smile at the thought of jumping a cliff, since I’d hardly be in danger, but recent events keep me sober. “And d’ya see her jumpin’? So what’s yer problem?”

She looks at me expectantly, probably expecting me to echo her words, to tell him not to jump. But with recent events weighing heavy on my soul, I don’t have the energy to give this man the attention he so clearly craves. He’s not going to jump, after all. “By all means, jump if you must. More air for the rest of us,” I say weakly.

His expression of shock might have made me giggle if I was feeling more lighthearted. “How could you be so callous?! I am so obviously in pain here! Have you no care for my needs? No, of course not. No one does. Not Mumsey, not Daddums, not Jeeves. I bet they’d be glad if I was gone. In fact, I’d probably be doing them a favor!” The man’s squeaky, shrill voice is starting to give me a headache. “That’s it, I’ll stay alive just to spite them! I’ll be the most miserable, selfish, upstart of a child! Actually, this won’t be much of a change, but now I’m justified. Life is good.”

Dear Aerdrie Faenya, I think I’ve just done a terrible thing.

“Ya could have tried to talk him out of it, Keyria, even if he was just lookin’ for attention,” Imoen mutters, and I wonder if the result would really have been that different if I’d tried. The man seems determined to be horrible.

“Eh? Never mind. I’ve a score to settle with a callous world,” the nobleman says triumphantly as he trots off. I wonder if he has a carriage nearby. He must, since I can’t imagine him walking all this way from the nearest town.

As the sun reaches its peak, Imoen and I once again find ourselves at the fortress library. The Keeper’s eyes crinkle kindly as we approach. “I know you used to live here, Keyria, but you know the rules. I cannot let you in without a book. I wish I could make an exception, but you know the most high Ulraunt will never allow it.” I make a face. That old man has always hated me.

“But Keeper!” Imoen interrupts. “Gorion and Keyria were attacked just outside the keep, near the Coastway! Gorion, he’s...he’s dead, and Keyria just barely managed to escape, I saw the whole thing! Don’t you think you can make an exception? You’ve known Keyria for years!” Even though I know he’ll refuse, I appreciate her effort.

The Keeper’s eyes are sad as he turns to me. “I...I am saddened to hear of Gorion’s death, Keyria. Your father was a good man and my friend. I’ll inform the most high Ulraunt and Tethoril of his passing. This is grave news indeed. However, I do hope you understand I cannot let you in, Keyria. My hands are tied in this matter.”

I grit my teeth to keep from saying something unpleasant. I know he doesn’t mean anything by his words, but hearing them repeatedly makes my head spin horrendously, the feeling of being barred even from the place I wanted to leave for years leaving me frustrated and tired.

“All right,” I say finally. “I understand. I think Father would want to be buried here, though. Could you send someone to collect his...his body and arrange it, please?”

His gaze softens. “Of course,” he murmurs. “We will send out a search party, and Gorion will be interred properly. I wish that I could do more for you.” He cuts a small purse from his belt. “Perhaps I can help in some small way. Here, please take this. It’s not much, but I hope it will be of some assistance.” He hands it over, and it feels heavy in my hand. I lean over and kiss his cheek, though it is a grave kiss, lacking my usual warmth.

“Imoen, you, however, are free to enter if you wish, of course,” he says. “Winthrop is quite worried over your disappearance.”

For a moment, I’m worried she’ll go. It would be safer for her, and I could not be angry with her for that, but I don’t want to be alone. My relief is unexplainable when she vehemently shakes her head. “Oh, no!” she refuses. “Keyria and I are in this together, through thick and thin! Puffguts has my letter. And he taught me a thing or two...ol’ Imoen can stay outta trouble! Tell him I love him, though, will ya? And tell him not to worry ‘bout little old me.”

The Keeper smiles. “I will, Imoen.” He turns to me. “Take care, both of you. And Keyria? Be wary of strangers, and don’t be too quick to give out your name. Just a bit of advice. Safe travels.”

As we wander back east and it nears evening, we hear a commotion on the road and quickly step off of it. A black coach and team of horses passes us, taking my Father to his final resting place in Candlekeep. I watch it head west until I can no longer see it.

“Goodbye, Father,” I whisper. “Thank you for everything. I will avenge you, and make you proud, I promise.”


	2. Lone Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There sure are a lot of random people wandering the Sword Coast, and Keyria apparently manages to meet them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, chapter two!! I thought about waiting to post this so I could do like a weekly thing but tbh I think trying to stick to a schedule would stress me out and possibly burn me out, so I'm just gonna be posting chapters when they're ready. Probably anywhere from a few days apart to a few weeks, and probably not longer than that unless something comes up. I am excited. This story has existed in my head for so long that it's weird but also super wonderfully gratifying to finally write it down.

Imoen and I stay up late into the night. We begin winding down the day with soft reminiscence of Gorion, and I pull my hood up to hide my tears. If Imoen notices when I cannot disguise the shine on my cheeks, or the soft sniffles I try to muffle, she says nothing. Instead, she fills the near-silence lightly with her own voice, saying the words that I cannot.

As the fire dies, and my sister yawns exhaustedly, I tuck her into her bedroll, brushing her hair back away from her brow before I step back. I feel responsible for her, and I hope dearly that I can keep her safe. I wonder if I should send her away. I don’t know that she’s even go, but I could always be the one to leave, and hope that she’d return home.

I spread my wings, flying upwards until I land lightly on a low-hanging branch, settling in for the night. I look up wistfully, and watch the sky long after the dusk begins to turn to twilight.

When the sun rises the next morning, the world is awash in red. It takes me a moment to realize it’s because I’ve been crying. I touch my cheeks, vehemently rubbing the remains of my sorrow away.

I rarely sleep, but last night I was almost tempted, if only to lose myself in a world where I don’t have to remember that my father is gone. Instead, I reveried for half the night until my tears blurred my vision and made my eyes sore and puffy.

In the light of day, I feel foolish. I miss my father dearly, but if I allow grief to cloud my judgement I will be dead before I can avenge him. With a determined hand I use most of the water from my waterskin to clean the last remnants of tears from my face before Imoen can waken and see me, hoping there’s a stream nearby.

I leap down nimbly from the tree I’m in, brushing a few stubborn leaves off my clothes and easing them out of my hair. Sprinkles hops onto my leg and nudges me in the arm until I pet him as I sit gracefully down on the ground. I rifle through my pack until I find what I’m looking for: Sister Sapienta’s letter. I also pull out a handful of dried fruit, taking a bit from myself and tearing smaller pieces to feed to Sprinkles, who is probably tired already of grass.

I consider my options. Father wanted me to go north, to the Friendly Arm Inn, and find some allies there. And, although I know having friends would be in my best interest, I’m curious about Sister Sapienta’s letter. Turning it over in my hands, I consider that I could go and deliver it and then turn my attentions northward.

I string my bow and set it aside, turning my face up towards the sky. It would be most prudent of me to walk, since it isn’t easy to fly low to the ground and it seems like it would be dangerous to attract too much attention, which flying would do. I struggle internally a bit with the idea, as my pride rebels against me, but I know I should do what’s safest. Father wanted me to walk, after all, and he probably had good reasons to want to go unnoticed, seeing as he’s now...dead.

To my shame, tears once again press at the backs of my eyes and the back of my throat and I swallow them down fiercely before they can escape. I wonder if the grief will ever get any easier to handle, or if I will always remember the feeling as fresh as I do now. I cannot imagine not feeling this way, but I hope I am wrong, and the sadness will fade with time. I saw the grief that my father carried, and my life is likely to be much longer than his.

A man runs by, heading north, his pace pace brisk but steady and controlled. “Morning, morning,” he says by way of greeting. “Gotta get to Baldur’s Gate, a caravan’s just been raided northeast of Beregost and I must report to the Grand Dukes. Always busy, always busy.” He doesn’t give me a chance to say anything back, but as he rushes by I wave, and he nods once at me as he runs, making a rather silly image that just almost makes me laugh.

I wonder at this. Until recently, news of caravan raids was few and far between. At least, from the knowledge that both came into Candlekeep and reached my eager ears. Yet in the past week we had a group of Flaming Fist pass by, and if the rumors that I heard are true, at least two caravans had been raided and the merchants slaughtered just in the past tenday. Spreading out my arrows and counting them, I hope that I will be able to keep my sister and I safe. It wouldn’t do to be killed now, and we don’t even have anything worth taking.

I imagine Imoen finding the whole thing horribly romantic, seeing bandits raiding caravans as a real adventure on the road, and I’m glad she’s not awake to hear the news.

I do not know how long I sit quietly, reflecting and keeping my mind as clear as possible, before Imoen wakes up. It probably isn’t very long, since the sun is still low in the sky when she sits up, but it feels endless.

We talk quietly as she energetically packs up her things, and I tell her that I think we should deliver the letter down in Beregost. She doesn’t argue with me, though I can tell she thinks we should go north. “As soon as this letter is in Dawn Priest Blaise’s hands, we’ll go to the Friendly Arm,” I promise. “I’m just worried about losing the letter, and I did promise I’d deliver it safely. Besides,” I add. “It’s you and me against the world! We’ll be fine!” It’s something Imoen would say, not me. I say this last part with far more confidence than I feel, but my sister seems satisfied.

We wander east for a bit. I close my eyes for a while and hum as the slight breeze ruffles my hair and clothes. Despite my somber morning, I find myself feeling at home in the fresh air, and though I feel a little guilty for it, I reason that Father would not have wanted me to be weighted down by too much grieving.

As a lone wolf draw near, and Imoen raises her bow, I place a hand on her arm and shake my head when she looks at me questioningly. I will only attack a creature of the wilds as a last resort. The wolf bares his teeth, ready to protect his territory, but I hold my hands out in front of me, open, conveying that I am no threat. He growls, asserting his dominance, before leaving us alone.

We’re about to head south when we come across a rather heavyset man on the road. He looks dirty, as if he hasn’t seen a bath in weeks at least, and I wonder if he lives out here alone. I push up onto my tiptoes out of habit, and eagerly wave to him. With a warm smile at odds with his mud-caked face, he draws closer.

“Well, well, it’s been a busy day indeed,” he says. “Strange noises the other night, and now a plethora of people wandering the wood. You do look rather more hospitable than the last two I came across, at least. Well met, stranger. I am called Kolssed.”

I open my mouth to say my name in return, but I remember the Keeper’s warning and immediately close it again. I open and close my mouth again before words finally come to me. “You live out here alone?” I finally ask.

He smiles warmly. “Oh, I’m just your average hermit,” he says. “Well, sort of. I’m rather new at hermit life. Haven’t really got the whole isolation bit down yet. I suppose I’m too much of a people-person.” I smile, thinking that this mirrors my own reasons for not being able to isolate myself completely. “I used to be a merchant down in Nashkel, but I lost everything due to the iron shortage. I’ve been wandering the woods for a while now and I must say it’s quite relaxing. Well, aside from eluding the occasional bandit, but I don’t have anything of value anyway so they mostly leave me be.”

I rock back hard on my heels, thinking that this is quite a bit more information than I asked for, but that I’ve learned some interesting things nonetheless. First, that there’s some kind of iron crisis down in Nashkel, and second, that Imoen and I will have to take extra care to avoid bandits. This makes two people who have mentioned them, now, and I don’t think our odds of surviving are very good, as inexperienced as we are, and there being only the two of us.

“It must be wonderful.” I say this wistfully, and if Imoen notices the longing in my voice, she doesn’t comment on it. “You said you had met two people up north? I’m looking for some...friends...that way, at the inn. Perhaps it is them you saw?”

But he is already shaking his head. “I doubt it, miss. You look respectable, and these two...they gave off a vibe that they were up to no good, and they’re rather far from the Friendly Arm besides. You’ll likely pass them on the road, though, if you wish to head that way.”

I sigh, as it would have been quite a stroke of luck to find them, though I make a note to at least check on these people. I can use any friends. “Can you help me in any way then, sir? My father and I were attacked the other night and I’m still feeling a bit lost.”

“I can offer advice, and my goodwill, but little else I’m afraid. I suggest you make friends where you can, since travelling alone will likely be a death sentence. You’ll want to surround yourself with like-minded friends or risk making enemies in your own group. This is really all I can offer you. Good luck.”

Imoen, who has been strangely silent throughout this whole exchange, chooses now to pipe up. “Ya hear that? ‘Like-minded friends!’ That’s me! Yer doin’ just fine despite bein’ thicker than Candlekeep’s walls! Imoen the Magnificent is gonna make an adventurer of ya yet!” She squeezes my arm, her eyes shining, and I smile at her before turning back to Kolssed. “Thank you, and farewell,” I say. And with a tip of his hat, he wanders off, pulling the makeshift cape he wears tighter around his ample shoulders.

“So, shall we check on these strangers up north?” I ask, turning to Imoen. I’m about to say more, but she doesn’t give me the chance. She nods, so vehemently I wonder that her head stays attached. “Yep! You and I are a great team, and all, but it can’t hurt to have some more help, ya know? Maybe we’ll ever meet a great wizard, and become legends!” Despite her bravado, I can tell that she knows the two of us wandering alone is an eventual death sentence.

Her energy is infectious as we turn north, and I find myself smiling as she regales me with stories of “great adventurers” that I strongly suspect are just made up, or stolen right from the pages of books. We can vaguely see two figures in the distance, but they’re too far to make out clearly.

It’s high noon when we eventually approach them, a halfling and a human, and I understand quickly that the old hermit was probably right, and these likely aren’t the people Father mentioned. The human has a disconcerting smile on his face, and the halfling sharpens two daggers against each other. All the same, I am already here, and there’s little reason to turn back because of appearance.

“Hey, kid,” the halfling grunts as we move closer, an unwelcoming look in his eyes. “Strange place to be wanderin’ about. My companion’s got somethin’ ta say ta ye.” With a sneer, he turns back to sharpening his knives, the horrible screeching sound ringing in my ears.

The human nudges his companion, an odd gesture considering the height difference between them. “Hold, Montaron. This young wayfarer is in need.” Turning to me, he adds, “You must have been the ones beset at the battle to the west, and you have probably barely escaped with your lives.” And while there is nothing wrong with the words he says, and though his voice is strangely smooth, I feel a deep sense of unease nonetheless.

The halfling looks up for the first time, his eyes raking over our bodies. “Aye, Xzar, they do look a bit roughed up.”

The mage nods. “Indeed, indeed. I can offer you healing potions, if you wish, as a gesture of goodwill.” He reaches into a pouch at his belt and draws out two blue elixirs. They look like any other healing potions I have seen, but I am hesitant to take them.

Imoen tugs on my sleeve and stoops down to whisper into my ear. “I dunno, Key. He speaks like he’s layin’ honey on bread but I don’t trust the look in his eyes one bit,” she whispers, echoing my thoughts. “I know we need friends, but I’m thinkin’ takin’ these two along would do us more harm than good.” Her words, along with those of the hermit we met earlier, ring in my ears as I mull things over.

I consider for a few more moments, but I suppose there’s no harm in accepting the potions and leavin. I doubt very much that I have seen the last of combat, after all. “Uhm, thank you,” I say, holding my hands out. Xzar places them into my outstretched hands, and as my fingers curl around them, I know he’s not done with his pitch yet. I tug on the potions until he releases them, stowing them away.

He grins. “Nothing to fear, they’re just simple potions. I won’t even hold you in any debt. Isn’t that kind of me?” He preens, as if congratulating himself. “Just like all good people,” his halfling companion mutters.

Fear spreads through me, and I wish I’d simply walked away. Something is deeply wrong here, a sense of cruelty in the brisk air. I know that whoever these people are, they do not ultimately mean well. I start to back up, but think the better of it, for I don’t want to risk being followed and murdered. They could be more assassins in disguise.

Before he can open his mouth to speak again, I open mine. I step forward, and revulsion crawls through me as I lay a hand on the arm of each of them. I resist the urge to pull away and scrape my hands on something–anything–else. Imoen glances sideways at me, but I know she can see where this is going, even if she says nothing. I have not used the powers of my voice to charm someone in some years now, but I know I won’t like what he proposes next, and I could use this opportunity to glean some information, if they have any.

“Why are you really here?” I ask, my voice smooth yet demanding. I thread my will into it as I speak, pushing as hard as I can to keep them under my spell. Their eyes grow blank, and I know they’ll answer whatever I ask.

Montaron just grunts towards the mage, as if saying that he should be the one to do the talking, and Xzar speaks up. “Well, friends, Monty and I are part of the Zhentarim. We’ve been sent here to find out why the Zhentish name is being slandered up and along the Coast Way. Someone’s been trying to make our order look bad and we’re going to stop them.”

I feel my lip curl in disgust. I know very well who the Zhentarim are: they’re a rival faction to the Harpers and they champion everything the Harpers abhor. While I doubt these clowns are the men who killed my father, as the enemy mage was a woman and there were no halflings that I could see, I still feel that I cannot let them continue to live, and yet execution is against everything I believe.

Imoen watches me, probably gathering my troubles from the expression on my face. With an uncharacteristically serious expression, she reaches down and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Keyria, I know you don’t want ta kill them like this, but I can—that is, I’ll do it.” There’s a strong and resigns determination in her eyes, and I know she means what she says.

“What? No!” I shoot back immediately, though I wonder that my heart isn’t wholly in it.

Imoen squeezes my shoulder. “Really, let me,” she says. “Key, it’s okay.”

I chew on my lower lip nervously. “We don’t know that they’ve actually done anything wrong. We should just...walk away.”

Imoen shakes her head, a frighteningly grim smile on her face. “If Gorion were here, he would kill ‘em,” she says, and she’s right. Gorion would not have suffered any agents of the Zhentarim to live. From what he told me of his past, he slew many of them in the past, due to their inevitable conflict. I know she’s right, but I still can’t bring myself to just accept it. I told her hand in mine and start to pull her away.

Imoen shakes me off and grips me firmly with both hands, rotating me until I’m facing the other direction. I could still stop her, but I don’t. I close my eyes tightly, even though I’m facing the other direction. Imoen is right: if I’d been with Gorion, he would have cut them down. She is only doing what I cannot. I bite down hard on my lower lip, trying to tune out every sound but the breeze floating around my ears. I don’t want to hear the blood flowing, or the bodie hitting the ground.

Imoen is back at my side only seconds later, an easy smile on her face, and no sign of what she has just done. “Well, what are ya waitin’ for?” she asks, nudging me in the waist, her arm wrapped around me until I can’t help but smile, even if it’s a small smile. “C’mon, let’s head south.”

Even though this moment has just happened, I know that we will never speak of it again.

Imoen regales me with a rather ridiculous story that I’m pretty sure she’s just making up as she goes along, about a very silly squirrel who gets into very silly adventures. Before long, I’m giggling at the ludicrous journeys of Roger the Great, Squirrel Extraordinaire. My earlier discomfort fades, and I feel suddenly wonderful. There is no back, only forward, and refusing to live my life will not stop it from happening.

I’m still laughing as a red-robed man in a pointy hat approaches us, and I struggle to control myself as he politely nods his head in greeting. I choke as I try to swallow my laughter, and incline my head to hide it.

“Ho there, wanderer,” he says in a gruff and kind voice. Sprinkles seems interested in this new voice, and I feel him pawing at my shoulder. I lift him out and hold him in my arms. The man smiles at him, and he seems to puff up happily.

“Stay thy course a moment to indulge an old man. It’s been night unto a tenday since I’ve seen a soul walking this road, and I’ve been without decent conversation since.” He leans on his walking stick, gathering his breath before continuing. I reach out to steady him, but he waves me away. “Traveling nowadays appears to be the domain or either the desperate or the deranged. If thou wouldst pardon my intrusion, may I inquire which pertains to thee?”

Imoen bounces on the balls of her feet, her excitement making her almost vibrate. “Heh, I…” she breaks off, frowning, and begins to mutter. “Or do I need ta say ‘ti…?’ I mean, if ‘you’ is ‘thou,’ or was it ‘thee…?’” She grins brightly to cover her embarrassment, her cheeks ever so slightly pink. “Uhm...in any case I’m not desperate or deranged! I’m excited! I’m gonna be a famous adventurer, like Elminster!”

The strange man smiles. “Ah, Imoen. Thou art a spirited child. But what of this one, here?” He nods at me, but I’m still a bit in shock after hearing this stranger say my sister’s name, and I don’t say anything.

Imoen must think the same thing, because her bouncing abates somewhat and she frowns. “Wait. How do you know my name?”

“One can acquire such knowledge in many ways, child,” he says cryptically. “But now, let the winged one speak.” Imoen looks at me and just shrugs. I return the gesture, trying not to giggle again at her confused expression.

I make a face. “I don’t want to offend you, but asking after my mental state says a lot about yours.”

He doesn’t seem to mind, though. “I understand your point, child. Perhaps you are neither deranged nor desperate, but determined. I shall leave you be, as you seem capable. You should head north as soon as you’ve delivered the letter you carry. Friends certainly await there.” He smiles to himself in some private joke. “But I have tarried too long and said too much. Farewell.” And before I can press him for answers, he hurries off.

Imoen turns to me, a rather comical frown on her face. “He’s weird,” is all she says, and I can’t help but laugh in sound agreement.

She tells me more about Roger the squirrel as we turn southerly. I hope Beregost isn’t too far south, since I would hate to have to do too much backtracking, once we turn north, but having decided on a route already I’m hesitant to change my mind now. I just wish I had a better map. I vow to update it myself as we travel. I like to draw, and I think it might be fun. Perhaps I can try to draw one in the back of my journal.

An hour or so after the strange man has left us, another man rushes quickly past us, panting, but his pace is steady and quick. He’s heading south, in the same direction we are, and he shouts at us as he passes us. “Gotta get to Beregost! Gotta warn Governor Kelddath of the extra troops being sent this way!” He breathes heavily, slowing down just a bit. “Beregost must be garrisoned in case of war with Amn! Amn’s denied it but that’s exactly what those snakes would do! Make way for the messenger!” he yells, although we aren’t really in his way. I suppose he likes to feel important.

I continue to carry Sprinkles in my arms, not minding his miniscule weight. He butts his head affectionately against my chest a few times, begging for attention, but at some point, he falls asleep, the soothing rhythm of his breathing barely reaching my ears. I’m so absorbed in listening to him breathe that I don’t notice we’ve come across someone until we’re nearly on top of him.

Embarrassingly, my breath catches when I first lay eyes on him, a mass of thick black hair and dark eyes. I quickly swallow, my eyes darting to the side as he speaks, his tone wary. “Greetings, strangers. What bring you this far from civilization?”

Distaste coats my tongue. I’ve never seen a human city in recent memory and I have no desire to, though I suspect I won’t be able to avoid it forever. To be in a place packed with people, all signs of nature stamped out...I have to repress a shudder of revulsion.

I go with the safe, vague answer. “My sister and I are adventurers. We’re going to smite any evil that darkens our path.” I’m sure it’s only because of his handsome face that I’m compelled to say more, and as heat rushes to my face I ignore it. “My father was murdered, and I want to avenge him.”

He nods gravely. “A fortuitous coincidence,” he says. “I have spent the past few months hunting bandits in this region, and it seems our quests are similar in nature. Perhaps if we worked together, we would fare better.”

“Yes!” I exclaim, and immediately wish I could slap myself. Why am I acting so stupid? Sprinkles, sensing my mood, bites into the tender skin of my inner wrist. Luckily, this seems to clear my mind somewhat. “Uhm, that is, I’d be happy to have you along. Uhm, both of us,” I add hastily, and Imoen smiles in amusement. I rush on. “But why have you been hunting bandits for so long?”

“They are led by the ogre Tazok,” he says, “who took the life of someone very dear to me.”

I gasp, my current whirlwind of emotions forgotten at this new information. “When my father was cut down, there was an ogre there, with the huge armored man who killed him. Perhaps it was this Tazok?”

His expression shifts, and he looks troubled. “Perhaps,” he ventures. “When we find him, we will have our answers together.”

I nod quickly. “I am Keyria, by the way. This is my sister, Imoen.” I am grateful that he doesn’t question the obvious difference in our races. Spending the last fifteen years with Imoen as a sister and Gorion as a father, I learned quickly that family isn’t always about blood.

He inclines his head politely. “Nice to meet you, Keyria. I am Kivan.” I feel my cheeks start to heat up again, and I turn away, yanking the hood of my cloak up. Embarrassment hits me a moment later, and I belatedly wrap it tighter around my body as well, as if I am just cold and trying to ward off the evening chill.

I turn to face the nearly circular structure just to the west, trying to pull the attention anywhere but myself. I jump at Kivan’s voice at my shoulder, and hastily raise my hand to block my face, pretending to tuck away a stray lock of hair. “High Hedge,” he says. “Home of the Master Thalantyr. He is not unkind to strangers, though he may be short.”

At that moment, a man steps out of nearby shadows. He’s dressed in dark colors, and his face is covered by a hood that falls back as he moves, revealing a human with dark hair. “Hey! I was here first! I’m trying to plan the grandest of all heists here and I can’t hear myself over all your stomping and blathering!”

Imoen snorts and giggles. “Is this guy for real? Throwin’ a hissy fit ‘cause a couple a’ words broke the silence? I’d like ta see him in Puffgut’s kitchens on the night a’ the Midsummer feast! He’d probably lose his mind and start screamin’!” Her laughter heightens, and she clutches her sides. “Come ta think of it, he’d fit right in!”

“Er...sorry?” I say, though I’m not really sure what I’m apologizing for. “How can you hear yourself if you’re not saying anything, though?”

He nods thoughtfully, though I wasn’t really serious. “Okay, okay here’s the plan: there’s a big-time mage in there. He’s got magic items everywhere, just laying about tipe for the taking. Problem is he’s got these guardian flesh monsters and everything is useless against ‘em. They’re stupid, but I can’t figure out how to get past ‘em. Plus there’s no shadows where I can hide!”

Kivan frowns. “If you’re seriously planning an attack on Master Thalantyr, I can’t allow it. He’s a good man.”

The man sighs at this. “Well, he’s got plenty of scratch, I’ve give ‘im that. I can’t figure out how to lure those flesh things away, anyhow. I should probably just go find a halfling village or something to pick on…” Grumbling, he ambles away, apparently having decided to give up on his heist.

Kivan turns to me now, shaking his head ever so slightly, probably at the thief who gave up so easily. “Keyria, we should visit Master Thalantyr. He could trade with us, if we ever have any magical items that aren’t worth keeping, and he always has things for sale.”

I nod briskly, waving my arm at Imoen, whose eyes are on me as she watches me with a rather bemused smirk. I ignore the bait and loop my arm through hers, leaning my head against her shoulder as we approach High Hedge.

Imoen raps on the door, once, twice, three times, but there’s no answer. Shrugging, she pushes the door open before I can stop her. Between being caught off-guard and my arm still locked with hers, she easily pulls me along with her as she brazenly walks inside.

“Imoen!” I hiss, but it’s too late to change course by the time I manage to form her name.

The middle of the room is a large fountain, copious amounts of water spraying from the opulent fixture. A pair of rather ugly but muscular humanoids parade around the edges of the room, watching us with misshapen eyes. We give them a wide berth, though they don’t seem to mean any harm.

A tall human man with more grey than brown in his beard looks up from a pile of scrolls, turning keen eyes upon the two of us. “I have little patience for strangers trespassing in my home,” he snaps. “Do us both a favor and move along...well, unless you have magic for sale.” He seems to really look at us then, taking in our bright eyes and innocent airs. “Though from the looks of you, I doubt you can afford anything from me.”

I huff indignantly, though he’s not wrong. His eyes light up with something that I might believe to be humor from anyone else, but I can’t imagine that this somber man knows how to laugh. I figure, though, that even though we cannot afford to trade with him now, perhaps someday we can come back and see what he has to offer.

Kivan steps forward now, pushing back the hood that hides his face. “I’d hoped for a warmer welcome, Master Thalantyr. You once offered me your roof, or perhaps you’ve forgotten?”

The old wizard’s eyes sharpen and shift, focusing on the tall elf. “Elf! Er, Kivan, if I’m not mistaken. Bah! That was a proper welcome, if you’re going to hide in the shadows with a hood covering your face.” He grumbles, but turns and starts sifting around behind his desk. He knocks a few things over, causing clatters to echo through the room, but I’m hesitant to help him. He seems like the type who’d accuse me of stealing, and I have no desire to make an enemy of him. After some time, his fingers eventually close around a spear.

“I thought I’d repair that broken spear of yours as a thank you, the spear you broke fighting those bandits who attempted to raid my home. I’m quite happy with the enchantment, and you should be too. I’m not a weaponsmith, you know.” He shakes his head. “Bah! Just take the damn gift and be done with it.”

He accepts the spear in the same grave way he seems to do everything else, murmuring his thanks. Thalantyr goes back to perusing the chaotic pile of scrolls without another word, and I realize that we’ve been informally dismissed.

As I turn to go, I realize with a start that Imoen is no longer at my elbow, and I whirl around to find her nudging one of the weird fleshy things with her fingers. Horrified, I propel myself over to her and yank her back. “What are you doing?” I demand in a stern whisper.

She turns to me, her eyes lit up with fascination and something akin to admiration. “Isn’t it amazin’, Key? Just a couple lumps a’ flesh and it moves just like a real person.” Her voice drops. “It’s fascinatin’. Would be neat ta be able ta make somethin’ like this someday. A wonder what they’re for?”

I ignore this as a flight of fancy, glancing worriedly over my shoulder at Thalantyr. He’s too absorbed in his work at the moment to pay any attention to us, but I know it’s only a matter of time before her turns to us and demands that we leave. Or worse, notices what Imoen has been up to and does something more drastic. I have a feeling his “hospitality” is extremely conditional.

“Come on, let’s get going, please.” Removing my hands from their grip around her arms, I tug urgently at her clothing.

She groans. “Ya worry too much, Key. Always have.” But she obediently lets me pull her out the door. I’ve never really considered myself much of a worrier, but I’ve also never been responsible for someone like this, at least not that I can remember. If anything happens to Imoen because of me, I will never forgive myself.

The three of us continue heading east towards Beregost at my urging, despite the sun hanging low in the sky. I’m hoping that traveling in the night will keep us from being victimized by bandits, at least until I can gather a larger group of friends. Imoen has trouble seeing with her lack of darkvision, but I twine her hand firmly with mine, guiding her along carefully.

We make slow progress, and I know it’s my fault for being so unused to walking. As we take a break, I unlace my boots and pull them off, frowning at the angry red marks on my skin where the cloth has worn through. I grimace at the rather shoddy state of my wrappings, and I find fresh linens in my pack, setting them aside. As I unwrap my feet, I find that there is dried blood, and I worry that there may be more if I try to remove it. I’m about to use a spell, but I hesitate, worried I’ll need it later.

Imoen shoots a concerned glance my way, but it’s Kivan who appears at my elbow and lays a gentle hand on my skin. I jump slightly, and feel embarrassed, but if he notices he pretends he doesn’t. After a moment, the redness of my skin fades and the irritation that caused the bleeding mends itself back together. Using one of the rather grungy old wrappings, and a bit of water, he cleans the blood away. I look up at him, and immediately regret it. I feel my face flame and I hastily look back down.

Wordlessly, he takes the clean wrappings and winds them around my feet and legs far more skillfully than me, leaving no gaps or loose areas. He does it slowly, and I realize it’s so I can imitate him when I next do this myself.

He finishes, tucking the end of the wrapping securely into the top, and repeats the process on my other leg. I imagine that my face gets so hot that I burst into flames and blush even harder, turning my face away from him. Unfortunately, this causes me to catch Imoen’s eye and she smirks. I cast my eyes downward before she does anything else, or causes my embarrassment to heighten still further. Of course he had to be nice on top of handsome. I need to get a grip on myself before this gets worse.

Once he finishes the second wrap, I carefully raise my eyes to meet his. “Uhm...thank you,” I say, fighting to keep my face from growing hotter, and so quietly I wonder if he can hear me, but he nods in acknowledgement and steps away. I examine the wrappings: they are tight, but not too tight, and will clearly hold better than the ones I did myself. I clamp down on the urge to groan as I begin to put my boots back on, lacing them tightly up to the knee. I tie the laces into neat, even bows, and stand with a huff.

It’s late into the night when we finally arrive at Beregost, and as expected at such a time, the town is quiet, most of the citizens abed. A few working girls meander about, but they don’t bother to approach us. I do, however, go to one of them for information, and she’s kind enough to point out the inns and shops in the town. I ask her about the temple, and she tells me it’s directly east.

The nearest in is Feldeposts, so we step inside to get some rest. Upon entering, we are immediately accosted by a tall, bearded stranger.

“Get out!” he sneers, so close I can smell the ale on his breath, and I step back. “We don’t like your kind in here.”

“You tell ‘em, Marl!” yells a man from a neary table, nursing his own mug of ale.

I grit my teeth. Using my sweetest, most charming voice, I step back forward and lay a hand on this Marl’s arm. I know I don’t have much time, after having used up so much of my innate power what feels like days ago, though it was just hours. I have enough, though, I think. I hope. “What don’t you like about us?”

“Stupid adventurers, paradin’ around in their fancy gear and tellin’ tales, givin’ decent folk the wrong idea. My son got inspired, and all he did was go out an’ die tryin’ ta be a ‘heroic adventurer.’” I understand his anger, now, and I find I cannot hold it against him. I suppose the only thing to do now is avoid this place in the future. He twitches, and I can tell my hold on him is already fading. His friend looks at me, not unkindly, but with a warning in his eyes nonetheless. Hastily, I step back, rushing towards the barkeep.

“Ah...three rooms, please.” He nods, and tells me my total. I count out the coins and hand it to him in exchange for three tarnished keys, and I’m grateful for the Keeper’s generosity, or I would probably be barely able to afford the rooms, if at all. I distribute the keys and request a bath be brought to my room. He nods, signaling to someone I can’t see, and we order a meal.

The three of us spend half an hour at the bar consuming rather gloppy tavern food, but it’s sustenance, at least, and not completely flavorless. Conversation is kept to a minimum; it’s the middle of the night and we’re all exhausted, especially Imoen and myself. I’m barely able to keep my eyes open, in fact, and I finish off the last remnants of my food as quickly as possible to escape to my room.

It’s sometime past midnight when I finally climb up to my room, unlocking the door and stepping inside. I frown at the small quarters and the tiny window, and I think how much I hate closed spaces. I wish I could sleep outside, but I’d probably get some strange looks from the townsfolk. Turning the lock on the door, I set down my pack, closing my eyes in pleasure as the weight leaves me.

Sprinkles ignores my discomfort and immediately hops out, making himself at home, hopping up on the bed and snoozing, hind feet kicked out and belly up. My eyes land on the bath, and with a happy sigh I strip and bathe myself, letting myself forget for just a moment the events of the past few days, and ignoring the effects a certain person has had on me in the short time that I’ve known him. The water is only barely warm, but it still feels nice, and I work up my soap into as much of a lather as I can. The light jasmine scent soothes me, and I can almost pretend I’m at home.

I don’t step out of the bath and dress myself for bed until after the water has gone unpleasantly cold. Careful not to disturb Sprinkles, I ease myself on my side under the scratchy blanket, trying not to make a face as I settle myself on the edge of the small bed. And I realize, all at once, that I’m okay. I still miss my father fiercely, but the crippling pain I felt this morning is gone, as if I’ve realized that I’m allowed to be happy in the midst of my sorrow. And I know, as much as I’ve ever known anything, that Father would be horrified if I allowed his death to be mine, as well. He would not want to see me somber.

I fall into reverie with a smile on my face and full of hope for tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, my baby girl has her first crush. Conveniently, also her last, but sadly, she's gonna have to go through a looooooot of angst before she can get her happy ending. But, well. Joy would mean nothing without sorrow. :D
> 
> I've always thought that Imoen, who while cheerful and upbeat and utterly adorable, is still a daughter of Bhaal, suppressed taint or no, and I like exploring that side of her. She'd do just about anything for Keyria, which will become more and more clear over the course of this story, and death and killing, while obviously not pleasant for her, isn't something that she flinches at. She doesn't know why yet, of course, and she doesn't really think about it all that much.
> 
> Honestly, they were totally supposed to get to the temple by now, but Keyria had other ideas and then this chapter got way longer than expected and I really didn't want to make it any longer since I personally feel like long chapters should be really intense and I mean I think it's pretty obvious this isn't. Yet. ;)
> 
> Anyways, yay, time to write moooooore~


End file.
